Tempted in the Hawkeye State
by amythis
Summary: Iowa tempts Angela and Tony to make changes in their relationship.
1. Angela's Temptation

Wednesday, April 1, 1992

This is not an April Fool's joke. Tony has a job offer, in Idaho! I mean Iowa.

He came home yesterday from a stressful day as Driver's Ed teacher at Stonecreek Community College. He graduated in the Spring, a quarter earlier than he originally planned. But it turned out he should've applied for teaching jobs weeks ago. This was the first acceptance he got, but it's been hard on him.

I had a surprise for him though, a letter from Wells Junior College. I didn't even look at the state on the envelope, since I knew Tony would never have applied for any school out of the area. I showed him the letter when he got home, but he had me open it because he's become so discouraged.

They want him as not only a History teacher but as a baseball coach. Unfortunately, they're in Branford, Iowa. His counselor recommended him for the job, and Tony was tempted, but of course it's so far away.

Then I went downstairs just now for a midnight snack, and Tony was reading about Iowa in the encyclopedia. I could see how torn he was. I didn't want him to regret not at least checking it out. So we talked it over and he agreed that we'll go this weekend. The interview's on Friday, and we'll take the whole family, make it a little vacation.

And now I'm sitting here eating Tony's lasagna, cold, the way I like it best. And wondering if I was right to encourage him in this. It's always been a struggle for me, to know when to push him to pursue his dreams. I thought he should take that job in the Education Department in Washington, D.C., years ago, but I was relieved when he decided to stay here. And now? I just don't know. But I don't want him to have any regrets.

I haven't kept a diary in years, but tonight I wanted to jot down my thoughts. Are we at a crossroads, or will things go on as they were?

Saturday, April 4

Well, the family has gone back to Connecticut, without us. We didn't plan this, but Tony and I were talking so long about his future that we missed the plane.

The campus, all of Branford, Iowa really, is just lovely. And Dr. Graham offered Tony a position as associate professor. But Tony was willing to sacrifice everything, for the two of us. I couldn't live with that on my conscience. It's only for a year and I think we can make it work long-distance.

By the time I convinced him, the plane left without us, and with Mother and the kids. And the next flight wasn't for another 24 hours. I asked Tony what he wanted to do in Iowa and he said get a picnic basket and a bottle of wine, and watch the sun set over a corn field. He's so romantic!

And, yes, that's what we did last night. It was lovely, except for the flies.

While I was shopping for the picnic and extending our hotel reservations, Tony called Dr. Graham to let him know he'd reconsidered. He'd told me, "With my luck, it'll have been snapped up in the last couple hours." But the position was still waiting for him if he wanted it, and he did. Does.

So, a year. And we're supposed to get married in May. Tony is now talking about a Christmas wedding, but I don't see how we can have the big wedding he wants if we're in two different states. And then where would we live afterwards? Maybe we'll have to wait till next Summer!

Or maybe we'll just end up eloping, like he did with Marie. All I know is I want to be with him, and I've waited a long time for it. But I am going to have to wait awhile longer.

And, yes, that means other things are going to have to wait. I'll admit, it hasn't been easy dating someone who lives in my house and not, well, taking things to their natural conclusion. But Tony has been stubborn about not having sex with me before we're married. Oh, stubborn's not the right word, I know. It's sweet and old-fashioned, and it will make our wedding night very special. It's just, well, now I have to wait even longer.

Perhaps it will be easier, when he's not sleeping down the hall from me. Last night we had separate bedrooms, like we did the night before, but then I was sharing a room with Mother, and Tony was sharing with Jonathan. I envied the newlyweds having a room to themselves. I'm happy for Sam, but sometimes I feel cheated of my own wedding, overshadowed by hers.

I did suggest to Tony that we share a room last night, but he said, "Angela, we've waited this long. We can wait a little longer."

So we just kissed and cuddled at the picnic. It was lovely, but, yes, I want more.

Thursday, May 14

This is the day that Tony and I were supposed to get married, but all our plans have been postponed indefinitely. Instead, we've been planning for Tony's big move to Idaho, I mean Iowa.

His teaching year will start with the Summer quarter, June 1st. We've agreed we'll drive out on the Thursday before and I'll help him get settled in over the weekend. And then I'll fly back on Sunday and we'll begin our long-distance relationship.

All day at work, I kept wishing he'd show up in a tux with a bouquet of pink roses and whisk me away to elope. I know it would throw his plans into chaos, and it would be even harder to do our LDR if we were married, but I couldn't help wishing.

Instead, we'll have the romance of long hellos and goodbyes at airports.

Monday, June 1st

Tony's apartment is charming! Dr. Graham found him a one-bedroom, and the living room has a fireplace and a lovely view.

Yes, one bedroom. And Tony, you guessed it, slept on the couch. "Angela, you're my guest, I'm not gonna make you sleep on the couch!" Sometimes I wonder if he's just playing dumb.

He has a former Miss Iowa named Candy as his secretary, but I was relieved to discover that her title was won in 1948, and she's not as well preserved as Mother.

While she and Dr. Graham were helping him settle in on campus, I did a lot of unpacking for Tony, helping to make the apartment more like a home away from home. I looked forward to dinner out and alone, but he spent most of the weekend reviewing videotapes of his team.

But there will be other weekends. We hoped to get together in three weeks, but the weekend of the 20th is Alumni Weekend. He didn't even give me a romantic goodbye at the airport, because he was haggling over changing his plane ticket to the weekend of the 27th.

Thursday, June 4th

Damn, I missed a call from Tony tonight. I went out to a party with Mr. Henderson. Mother had called me in Ida—Iowa, saying that we were about to lose the account, but I wooed him back and he loves the new campaign. And, yes, I let him escort me to a party, completely platonically, despite Mother's teasing. Yes, Mark Henderson is good-looking, but he's no Tony.

Friday, June 5th

Tony called again and luckily I was able to answer it. We talked about how much we already miss each other after less than a week. The next two weeks are going to be hard, but we're trying to look forward to our reunion. Yes, he's coming on the 20th after all, but he'll leave on the 21st, so that he'll be there for half of Alumni Weekend.

He's doing well. He's got some great students and his team won their first game yesterday. And he loves his apartment, "but it's missing something."

I knew exactly what he meant, because this house is missing something, too.

Monday, June 22

So much for our romantic reunion. Tony arrived with stomach flu and managed to infect all of us but Hank, who says he hardly ever gets sick. So now Hank is looking after not only his sick wife but his "in-laws," me, Jonathan, and Mother. As Mother put it, "Ain't love grand?"

I couldn't kiss Tony goodbye when he had to rush off to the airport, because I didn't want us passing the flu back and forth to each other. And now I'm stuck in this house with three other grumpy, sick people, and I know I'll fall behind at work.

Monday, June 29

Another rotten un-romantic weekend. The airport lost my luggage, I had to somehow work on my most important accounts without the layouts, and Tony has become a Country & Western fan!

Tony and I fought the whole weekend and didn't make up till we were at the airport. But we'll try again in two weeks.

Saturday, July 4

Mother's mumble-somethingth birthday. It wasn't as much fun without Tony at the BBQ grill, although Hank did his best. Too bad he's accident-prone. All things considered, I think it's good that he gave up being pre-med. The worse job-related injury he has now is getting tangled in marionette strings.

"Angela, I just realized," Sam whispered to me, as Hank dowsed the grill's inferno with lemonade, "I've married Mason. He's taller and cuter, but he's Mason, isn't he? Smart, adorable, clumsy."

"Yeah, but he's Mason with a butt you could bounce a quarter off of," chimed in Mother, who'd been eavesdropping.

"Mona! He's practically your step-grandson-in-law!"

I just shook my head, remembering the harmless ogling Mother has done of her future son-in-law since before I met him.

Saturday, July 11

Alone in Tony's apartment. As in, without Tony. With the encouragement of Candy and Mother respectively, Tony and I decided to pay surprise visits to each other this weekend. I just missed him at the airport.

So I went to his place. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Check into a hotel? His landlord knows me from my previous visits and he let me in, but he said, "Hey, Mrs. Bower, you know Mr. Micelli isn't around this weekend."

"Yes, I figured that out."

I called Tony tonight from his Iowa bed, and he took the hallway extension to his Connecticut bed, one hour later there.

"I wish you were here," I said, meaning Iowa.

"Yeah, me, too. Or you were here."

"Just down the hall from you?"

"No, Angela, I mean here. Right next to me."

"In your bed?" I said in a shocked whisper, although no one could hear me of course.

His voice was quiet, aware that Mother and Jonathan weren't too far away. "Well, yeah. Although your bed is bigger of course."

"Tony!"

"Well, you know, if this job were more local, I'd be in your bed right now. We'd have been married almost two months, still honeymooners."

"Yes."

"Um, Angela, I've been giving this some thought and would you like to—?"

"Yes!" I cried, before I even knew what he was suggesting. If he wanted to meet halfway (which I guess would be Cleveland), to either elope or spend a night of passion together, I would've jumped at the chance.

"Ay, let me finish here."

"Sorry. Go ahead."

"Well, this is going against everything I was brought up to believe, but would you like to—Well, it's not as if we haven't been living together for eight years anyway."

"Tony, what are you saying?"

"Angela, will you be my POSSLQ in Iowa?"

"Your possum cue?"

"No, my POSSLQ. Person of Opposite Sex, Sharing Living Quarters."

"Oh, right." I hadn't heard the term in years.

"So what do you think?"

"Well, Tony, are you talking about living together like we live together here? I mean there. In Connecticut."

"Well, not exactly, Angela. I wouldn't be your housekeeper."

"Tony."

"OK, Angela, I think I know what you're asking. And, yeah, ten and a half months is a long time to share a one-bedroom apartment without, you know."

"Ten and a half months?"

"Yeah, of my year at Wells."

"Oh, right." It's still such a long time, but would it be easier if we were together?

"I know I'm asking a lot of you. You'd have to be away from your business and Jonathan and everything."

Oh, right. It hit me then. He was asking me to give up my Connecticut life, and my ad agency in New York. Or at least to step back from them. It was a lot to ask. It is. But I couldn't ask him to give up his future in Iowa. And maybe it would be better for our relationship to be alone together in a new place. Not just these disastrous weekends but genuine couple-time, without Mother and the kids. Not that I wouldn't miss Mother and the kids.

"Tony, let's not settle anything over the phone. I'll fly back out tomorrow. You stay there, and we'll talk."

"Whatever you want, Angela. I love you!"

"I love you, Tony," I whispered.


	2. Tony's Temptation

Hey, Marie, I thought I'd check in with you since we hadn't talked in awhile. Well, you never talk, but you listen well. And I don't know if you've been watching over me or not, but just in case, here's what's going on.

It's, what, Saturday, July 18, 1992. Yeah, nice eighteen-month calendar, huh? One of the many perks I get as an associate professor. That's going well. I love teaching History and coaching baseball.

But I miss Angela. We tried doing the long-distance thing but it just wasn't working out. I mean, we're still crazy about each other, but we couldn't seem to connect.

So I asked her to move out here. I know, I know, she's got her life back home. I gave up a lot to come here, but not like she'd have to. But she loves me enough that she's agreed to help me finish out the year. After that, well, I'll have enough experience that I can get a job more local to the house.

And it's not like five years ago, when she was just getting her agency going, remember that? She's got a large enough staff, and Mona's more reliable than she used to be, so Angela doesn't have to be there every day. She can fly back maybe once a month and take care of things, and otherwise just stay in touch by phone and fax.

She'll miss Mona, and the kids, like I do, but they can visit us. Maybe we'll do Christmas in Iowa, who knows?

Anyway, yeah, Angela and I are gonna live together, and not like in Connecticut. It's one thing sharing a big house with family, and another to have a one-bedroom apartment to ourselves. You know what a struggle it's been for me, Marie, all these years, especially this past year since I told her I love her. Yeah, OK, I was with other women after I lost you, but this will be living in sin!

What do I do, Marie? Do I suggest we elope when she gets here? Do I keep sleeping on the couch for ten months? Or do I finally give in to temptation?

She and I kinda sorta talked about it, but we didn't come to any conclusion beyond "it'll happen when the time is right," which is what we decided the night her Jag ended up in the lake. Part of me thinks that even if we did decide to go through with it, something would get in the way, like it always does. OK, sometimes it's me.

But this is hard for me, Marie. With you, piece of cake. Nice virginal Italian Catholic girl I was in love with, gotta marry her. With the other women, even the nice not-so-virginal Italian Catholic girls, I didn't love them, not gonna marry 'em.

I love Angela. She's not a virgin. She's not Catholic either. She believes in sex out of wedlock, although she doesn't jump into bed with just anyone. This isn't a fling of course. She's my fiancée. She would've been my wife by now if Wells Junior College was on the Eastern Seaboard.

Instead, she's coming to shack up with me in the Midwest. What if she expects us to go to bed that first night? I know this sounds crazy, but I'm not ready. I mean, that's too much pressure. I'd rather ease into it.

I know, I'll throw a surprise Welcome to Iowa party! It'll make her feel at home and we can put off the alone-time till she settles in a little.

…

Hey, Marie, it's me again. Well, the party didn't go as planned. Angela got drunk, before the party! She had a bad flight and mixed Dramamine and vodka. Not only did she embarrass herself, and me, in front of Dr. Graham and everybody, but this morning she made the front page of _The Branford Weekly. _You don't want to know.

I ended up carrying her off to bed last night, but it was kind of like seven years ago, after we first kissed in the kitchen. You remember the talk you and I had that night! I was very tempted to get in bed with her then, and we could've both blamed it on the drinking. But this time I was sober, and I had a living room full of party guests. So, although it wasn't the way I planned it, I did postpone our "first night" a little longer. And, yeah, I slept on the couch.

This morning, she had a hangover, but by the time I got home from work, she was chipper. She spent a nice, relaxed day at home: oil-painting, starting an afghan, and even cooking a not bad chicken dinner.

It's like having a wife, but not the wife I expected. I got engaged to a driven businesswoman. And that's who I'll have when we go back to Connecticut. But this is a whole other, domestic Angela. I like it, but it is a little weird.

Also, she wants me to share the bed tonight. She said, "Tony, we've shared beds before."

I said, "Yeah, but we weren't engaged then."

"Tony, we don't have to, well, you know. Not right away. But I loved lying next to you on the train to Washington. Remember?"

How could I forget? Her scent drove me crazy all night! OK, my bed isn't a narrow train bunk, but still. It's my bed! Our bed I guess.

Maybe we should elope. We could have the big ceremony after we return to Connecticut. But even elopement takes planning and it's not going to happen in the next fifteen minutes.

"Tony, are you coming to bed?"

"Just a minute, Angela. I've got one more paper to grade."

Wish me luck, Marie, although I'm not sure what form I want that luck to take.

…

Madonna mi, that was a challenge for Brother Anthony! Angela was sweet about it. She didn't put on sexy lingerie. She was wearing her frumpiest, least revealing pajamas. The problem is, she still looked gorgeous.

And I wasn't as much of a monk as I was in the motel seven years ago. We kissed and cuddled, that's all. But it was horizontal! You know I can't think as clearly when I'm horizontal. I don't know how much longer I'll last, sharing a bed with her for months. Maybe I'll talk to a priest, either to arrange a quickie wedding or to advise me.

…

I talked to Angela instead of a priest. It went something like this:

"Angela, I still don't know if I can sleep with you before we're married."

"Tony, I don't want to get married in Iowa. We don't have to have a big wedding, but I wanted to get married back home, with all our friends and family."

"Should we fly back for the ceremony?"

"Tony, let's live together unmarried, like we planned. And if you really don't want to sleep with me, we'll see if Dr. Graham can find us a two-bedroom place."

"We don't have to do that!"

"Why, are you afraid he'll find out we're not having sex?"

"Angela, it's not anybody's business but ours. And I do want to sleep with you. It's just, there are certain things I need to work through."

"OK, let's review. We couldn't have sex all those years because of the kids. But Sam is almost twenty and she's married herself. Jonathan is sixteen and he's thirteen hundred miles away. They probably assume we're having sex, and I don't think our bad example would corrupt them at this point. Particularly since we love each other and we're engaged."

"Well, yeah. But what about Mona?"

"How on earth could we be setting a bad example for my mother?"

"No, I mean she'd tease us about it."

"Tony, she's going to tease us if we do or don't have sex. That's how she is."

"Well, yeah."

"The other big reason was that you were my housekeeper. Look around, Tony, that's not our reality anymore."

"True. Of course, you still make more money than I do, and you're not even going into the office these days."

"Tony, you have a wonderful job and you know I regard us as equals. And I really don't want to have to keep sublimating into painting and knitting."

"You're making nice progress on the afghan by the way."

"Thank you. Tony, I want you. I've wanted you for a long time. I could traipse around the apartment in sexy lingerie—"

"Yeah?" I couldn't help grinning.

"Yes. And, believe me, I've had all kinds of ideas on how to seduce you."

"Yeah? Like what?"  
>She shook her head. "But I want you to want me."<p>

I couldn't help it, I sang, "I need you to need me."

She laughed but she replied, "I'd love you to love me."

"I'm beggin' you to beg me."

"I'm not going to beg."

"Well, I ain't too proud to beg, Sweet Darlin'."

"Maybe we should go do karaoke instead."

So we did, at the one restaurant in town. We got really flirty singing duets, till Ned from the phone company yelled, "Get a room!" If only it were that simple.

…

Wow, I don't know what to say. I couldn't tell this to anybody but you, Marie, and I feel weird even thinking it at you.

So Angela's been cooking a lot, and she is getting better, but I miss cooking. So we agreed to make dinner together last night. And we got really flirty, you know talking about heat and hunger, and me teaching her, and her being able to teach me a thing or two.

And we kept flirting all through dinner. And there was nobody to interrupt us, not even Mona calling about clients. It was a Saturday night, alone in our apartment. Our one-bedroom apartment.

Neither of us dressed up, although we could've changed after the mess of making dinner. We were both in plaid and jeans. Her hair was in a ponytail, and I didn't even shave that day. We looked like we'd been married and living in Iowa for twenty years. But I swear to you, Marie, it was the most romantic dinner we ever had. I'm surprised we lasted through dessert.

As soon as she swallowed the last bite, mmming in that way she does over chocolate, I had my tongue in her mouth! I couldn't hold back any longer. I didn't care that we weren't married. Damn it, Marie, I should've married her years ago! After I realized I didn't love Frankie.

Angela's tongue greeted mine like a lost friend. And soon we were undoing each other's plaid shirts. And then each other's flies!

Then she said, "Wait!"

I couldn't believe it. We were finally, FINALLY, going to do it, and now she's having doubts?

"Angela!" I begged. "Please, I don't care, let's just go for it!"

"But, Tony," she pouted, "I wanted our first time to be on a bed."

"Oh, right, sorry!" I threw her over my shoulder in the fireman's lift. OK, not very romantic, but she's a lot taller than you, Marie, and it's the easiest way to carry her. I ran as fast as I could into the bedroom and threw her on the bed.

She looked great, all disheveled, her clothes half off. But then it hit me. This wasn't how we were supposed to have our first time. "I'm sorry, Angela, you need romance and foreplay. Let me put on Vic Damone and—"

"Screw Vic Damone! I've had eight years of foreplay and romance!"

Yeah, Angela, my Angela, said that. I laughed, and then she laughed. I fell onto the bed next to her, still laughing. And we kissed, less frantically. She really is my best friend, along with everything else she is to me.

Even after—Well, OK. Here's what happened. We started making out again, horizontally this time. The clothes came completely off. I finally got to see Angela naked again, after eight years. (You remember the talk we had that time, don't you, Marie?) I know you can't get jealous, but I won't go into detail except to say that she was even better than I remembered. Especially since, well, let's put it this way, arousal enhances her features, from flashing deep-set brown eyes and rosy cheeks on down.

As for my features, I'm sure she'd noticed for the past hour that I was, well, good to go. I'd thought about taking a cold shower but then I decided that we're living alone together now and she's got to get used to seeing that bulge in my jeans, whether or not she'd ever see it out of my jeans.

"Tony, do you have condoms?"

"Angela, I'm Catholic, I shouldn't even be doing this."

"Is that the issue, Tony? Maybe we should talk about—"

"That was a joke, Angela."

"Oh."

"I mean, yeah, this is a sin but I'd rather sin with you than all those women I didn't love."

"Thank you."

"They're in my underwear drawer. The condoms I mean."

"Oh, that's why you didn't want me doing your 'skivvies' in the laundry?"

"Mostly, yeah."

So I got up and got the condoms, explaining that I wasn't making any assumptions when she moved in, but better safe than sorry. OK, Angela is 42, but remember Mrs. Grimaldi in the old neighborhood? She was 50 when her last kid was born. And, yeah, I'd like to have a baby with Angela, but not before we get married! And I've got more than nine months left at this job.

I had her put it on me. Oh, her hands, her soft, smooth hands! I should've gotten even harder, but then she said, "What's wrong?"

I looked down. You're not gonna believe this! Nobody would believe this. I know poor Angela didn't. Me, Tony Micelli! I, well, let's just say the condom was not as full as it should've been, and it was getting emptier by the moment.

"Did I do that to you?"

"No, no, Baby, it's not you!"

"Is it the condom?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Maybe we should try it without a condom."

"Are you sure?"

"I packed my diaphragm and I can go put it in. And I'm safe. I haven't been with anyone since, oh God, Geoffrey!"

"I'm safe, too," I said quietly. I got tested after Kathleen. I didn't know if I'd ever get together with Angela after messing up, but I wanted to be sure I wouldn't be putting her at risk, just in case. And it's been almost two years anyway.

"OK, I'll be back in a couple minutes. And you just, just try to relax."

"OK." I couldn't believe this. I wanted her so bad it was killing me. And you know how often I've had to fight erections around her, starting the day I walked in on her coming out of the tub. Now it was finally OK, more than OK, necessary to be hard around her, and I lost it.

Even when she came back, standing there naked in the doorway, I couldn't get it back.

"Angela, I swear, this has never happened to me before!"

"I know, Tony." She came back to bed. "What do you want me to do? Should I try to arouse you more?"

"I am aroused! Even if it doesn't look like it."

"Maybe it's too much pressure. We've both built this up in our minds for so long."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Tony, let's just cuddle and kiss, no pressure."

"OK."

And it was nice. Feeling her skin against mine, tasting her sweet mouth. Telling you about it now, guess what? I'm hard. But somehow I couldn't be the rest of the night.

…

No offence to you, Marie, but I have the smartest fiancée in the world. When I came home last night, I was tired and just wanted a home-cooked meal and some cuddling in front of the TV, like Monday through Thursday. But the apartment was empty, no Angela in front of the easel or at her knitting needles, or bustling around in the kitchen. There wasn't even a note.

Then a minute later, Angela strides in, wearing one of her suits. You know, gold & black, scoop-neck silk blouse, a long jacket, short skirt, I-mean-business heels, the works. It turns out she drove into Des Moines to have an "experimental videoconference" with a client back in New York.

"I'm sorry, Tony," she said, as she gave me a hug. "I didn't have time to even go grocery shopping today, let alone cook."

"I can do it, Angela."

"Don't be silly. You've been working all day. Let's just eat out."

I grinned and reached under her skirt for the waistband of her black hose. "Good idea."

"Tony!" she cried as I dropped to my knees.

And then, well, we didn't exactly go to the one restaurant in town. And fifteen minutes later on the couch, I made sure she had something good and filling. We even had seconds, which lasted hours. (I wasn't as tired as I thought.)

When we were no longer wrapped up in each other and instead wrapped up in the afghan, I said, "I think I'm going to like living in the Heartland."

She sighed happily. "Me, too. And now I won't have to traipse around the apartment in sexy lingerie."

"You still could. I might have a relapse."

"As in lapsing into temptation again?"

"As in not being able to lapse. And, Angela, I want to lapse with you as much as I can."

"Good. It'll give me something to do besides painting, knitting, and cooking."

"You could always take up bowling."

In pitch-perfect Brooklynese, she said, "Ay, I got your bowling alley right here!"

And then I made some jokes about minds in the gutter and scoring, and she made some "laps" puns, and, well, Marie, I don't have to tell you everything, right?

THE END


End file.
